


A Timely Uprising

by Bowm8935



Series: Fenders Week 2016 [3]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Anders in a corset, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, i think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-28 23:45:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7661857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bowm8935/pseuds/Bowm8935
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders is the paramour to the Prince of Kirkwall, Seamus Dumar, and is unhappy with his lot in life. One of the guards falls for him, and together they work with the secret uprising meant to dethrone the current ruler and place the rightful Prince on the throne.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Initiation of Anders

**Author's Note:**

> Implied rape. FYI. No actual scenes or anything.

Anders stumbled back to his room, tears clouding his vision. He was returning from another session with the Prince of Kirkwall, a novelty that had long lost its appeal. What had once started as infatuation (he couldn’t call it love; no, love was too strong of a word and it held too many promises to apply to this situation) had faded into a dull acceptance, resigned to the life that he was doomed to lead until he was no longer considered _pretty._ He had traded one prison for another, albeit a different type, but he was still chained by those around him against his will.

He yanked open the door to his room, pushing it shut behind him, palms flat on the decorative wood, head bowed. The tears dripped down his cheeks onto the lush beige carpet beneath him, gathering between the long fibers to disappear completely.  

When Prince Dumar had arrived at the Circle in Fereldan on the search for a suitable arcane advisor, Anders was elated; it was his chance to escape the tower, to leave behind the life of abuse he had grown used to. The seneschal had pointed out several candidates he thought apt for the job based on recommendations from the Knight-Commander, Anders not among them. Of course not, he was a flight risk. Discouraged, he had slumped past the group, unaware of the Prince’s light blue eyes following him along the way. A quick set of footsteps had trailed him followed by a hand planted on his shoulder, spinning him around to look into a set of curious, lust-filled orbs that stood out against the pale skin and black hair. Anders’ breath had hitched as those eyes raked over his body, devouring everything they set upon.

Then time had sped up, and the Prince had left the tower short an advisor but with a paramour, much to the consternation of the seneschal. Anders had jumped at the opportunity given, of course; the Prince was handsome, and living in a castle in the Free Marches would be a dream come true. He was free to roam the fortress, doing whatever he pleased to keep busy so long as he was always up for a romp when called upon. Anders did quite like sex, after all.

At first, the Prince (Seamus, as he had originally asked to be called when they were in private) had been attentive, sweet, even. He was not wed, though that was not due to the lack of appropriate women; his interests simply lied elsewhere. He had poured all of his unused affection into his relationship with Anders, who found himself swooning under all the gifts and devotion. Seamus never demanded anything he was unwilling to give, and more often than not, it was lovemaking instead of fucking.

Then marriage was finally forced upon him, and the Prince was wed to a woman named Meredith. She was a holy terror, crashing through the halls with eyes of steel and hair the color of straw, spitting fire at anyone who dared get in her way. At first this had only driven Seamus further into Anders’ arms, desperate to escape the demon he felt he had been paired with. But Anders watched as the kindness in his eyes was replaced by anger, hatred beating out the innocence. The unhappiness thrust upon the Prince by his wife turned him into a cold, spiteful soul.

Anders let his hands drop from the door, turning around and shuffling to his bed, falling onto the soft mattress and curling into a fetal position. He knew he was not the only one to suffer from the rapid changes; he had overheard Seneschal Bran trying to deal with the nobles who had been under unfair scrutiny and knew of the wrath flowing throughout the princedom as a result of the transformation. But it was easy to put aside the anguish of those outside of the castle when he was lost in his own.

No longer was he gently asked to come to bed; it was now a harsh demand, followed by just as harsh fucking. It was a lucky day if any oil was used, and Anders found that he often had to heal himself after a session became too rough, his skin tearing and chafing under the unforgiving man.

He had made friends in the castle, but he found himself withdrawing from them, unwilling to let them see the pain cultivating inside of him. After all, most of them led a less comfortable life with amenities; sleeping in the barracks or bunks in the servants’ quarters was hardly comparable to his room. He had no right to complain to them when he was still far better off.

Pulling his pillow to his chest, he sobbed uncontrollably, letting the tears drop down without any interruption.

He stayed that way until he fell asleep.

~*~

Outside the door to Anders’ quarters, a lone guard stood. He was off-duty, and had marched his way over here to finally tell the mage how he felt about him. It was a dangerous thing to do, dallying with the Prince’s concubine, but the attraction was hard to ignore.

He had paused with his fist about to knock when he heard the weeping. Green eyes blinked in surprise, the hand falling back to his side limply. His long ears flickered slightly, unsure what to do about the wailing man just beyond the door. Anders had just come from the Prince’s chambers, and it was no secret that he enjoyed the activities they engaged in.

So why was he crying?

Ears flattening against his head, Fenris let out a hiss as he stepped back. He may not know _why_ the mage was upset, but he knew that he had to find a way to fix it. That meant speaking to the witch and her warrior, a task he did not look forward to. Turning away from the door, he padded silently toward the lower levels, heading to the kitchens.

He had not been at the castle long, only having been hired on recently when he found himself in Kirkwall running from his master. His skill in battle had earned him a coveted position among the Prince’s personal guard, a well-paying but highly demanding job. The one person he could consider a friend lived in a seedier part of town, dodging anyone who may be associated with the throne, with the exception of himself. He rarely had time to go to the tavern they met at, but he made sure to go as often as he could.

As he reached the bottom of the stairs that led to the larder, he paused, listening for the telltale sounds that who he needed was there. Sure enough, a singsong voice was talking at a rapid pace, blathering on about things he did not care about. Reaching forward one olive hand, he pushed the door open, strolling at a casual pace toward the talking, halting upon entering the correct area. Two sets of eyes swung over to him at his entrance, one green as the rolling hills and one blue as sapphires.

“Oh! Hel-lo Fenris!” the little elf called out, waving enthusiastically. “What brings you here? Does the Prince need something?” She was bouncing on the heels of her naked feet, a grin stretching from ear to ear.

He shook his head, already annoyed. “No, Merrill,” he answered, his voice a deep growl. “I came to speak with you about Anders.”

The man that had been perched on top of a nearby table dropped to the floor, striding over to stand in front of Fenris, glowering. “And what makes you think we’ll talk to _you_ about him?” he asked, blue eyes flashing dangerously.

Fenris stood his ground, unafraid even as the man towered over him. “Well, for starters, I am friends with your brother, Carver,” he answered, keeping his tone neutral. A snort of derisive laughter came from the man in front of him, but he continued without pausing. “For two, I thought you might know why Anders is crying, and how I can fix it.”

“You? Fix it?” Carver raised an eyebrow, obviously suspicious. Before he could continue, Merrill burst forth, wringing her hands, interrupting whatever he had been about to say.

“Oooh, there’s something wrong? Anders is upset? But why, I wonder? He has that nice room with that big, comfy bed and spends all day doing whatever he wishes. And he likes the Prince,” she added as an afterthought, confusion evident on her face.

A throaty laugh heralded the arrival of another in their midst. “Why, kitten, don’t you know? The Prince has not been treating our Blondie very nicely lately.” The owner of the voice dropped down from the rafters gracefully onto a table, her dark hair spilled over her shoulders. She leaned forward, breasts straining against the laces on her very small tunic, a smirk on her face as both Merrill and Carver inhaled at the sight.

Fenris ignored the show, uninterested in anything the busty pirate had to offer. “What do you mean? Has the Prince been mistreating him?”

She slid off the table to the floor, sauntering over to him. She placed one small, dark finger on his lips, tilting her head to consider him. “The _Prince_ no longer bothers to take care of his lover. Gone are the gentle caresses of the past, the considerate way he would help his paramour get ready. Now it is all rutting, fast and rough, and not in the good way.” She withdrew her finger, twisting around to slide it down the side of Carver’s face, gaze heating when the man sucked it into his mouth. A small moan came from behind them as Merrill watched, eyes blown wide with lust.

Fenris looked away, not wishing to see the three of them engage in their nighttime activities. “Thank you. I will consider what you have said and proceed from there.” He turned on his heel and left hastily, the sounds of pleasure echoing behind him as he moved toward the barracks.

He did indeed have a lot to think about tonight.

 

~*~

 

"A rebellion is brewing among the people, my lord. We must find a way to rectify the situation and convince your subjects that you are still the proper man to rule over them." Guard Captain Aveline Vallen said, hands splayed on the table in front of her as she leaned toward the Prince. "If we let this stew too long, you may find yourself facing a fate similar to the former Prince of Starkhaven."

Seamus waved a hand irritably, dismissing the captain's argument. "Prince Sebastian had every right to reclaim the throne stolen from him," he said, his voice a smooth tenor. "I need not fear anything similar happening here."

"My liege, there are rumors that the Amells have returned to Kirkwall. Is their position any less righteous as Prince Vael's?" Bran interjected, voice studiously calm even as worry flashed in his eyes. "There are those who would support the family's return to the throne."

"So kill them." Meredith's voice rang out, sharp and cold. "That's what you did with their grandfather and uncle. Kill these little brats, too."

"We would have to know who they are and where they're hiding first, my lady," Aveline spoke quietly. "They yet remain as unconfirmed rumors."

Meredith shrugged, looking bored. "So get the mages to find them."

"Absolutely not!" came the baritone of Knight-Commander Cullen. He stepped forward from where he had been leaning against the wall, arms behind his back as he studied her face. "Such a task would certainly require the use of blood magic, and I will not condone such measures."

Meredith opened her mouth to reply but was cut off by the melodic voice of Elena Trevelyan, the court's arcane advisor. "I must agree with the Knight-Commander in this situation. That is simply far too big of a risk."

"I do not wish to subject the citizens of the city to a possible invasion of abominations," Seamus said, raising a hand to stop Meredith's retort. "I am unconvinced this _rebellion_ is cause for worry. Even Sebastian needed the backing of another Princedom to stand a chance, and I find it difficult to believe the Amells could garner such power. Nevertheless, I will take precautions and increase the guard in the castle. Ser Fenris?" The elf in question bristled slightly at being called upon, stepping forward dutifully and bowing, as was proper. "I am assigning you to watch over Anders from this moment forth, at all hours of the day, to ensure he may not be used against me. Understood?" 

"Yes, my lord," Fenris ground out between clenched teeth. He did not miss the fact that he was to guard the object of his affection not for his own safety, but for the _Prince's_. 

"Then you will start your assignment forthwith. Dismissed." Fenris bowed again before leaving the room, taking great care not to show his aggravation by keeping his face neutral and his steps light. He turned the corner sharply, pivoting toward the library, the most likely place to find his new charge.

As he approached the gilded doors, apprehension started to bloom in his stomach. He was going to be glued to the mage’s side henceforth, a task he was not displeased about but nervous. What if Anders didn’t like him? He knew he was a hard pill to swallow, unusual and blunt, but that didn’t stop the flare of hope he felt in his heart. He had been casting wistful looks in the direction of the man almost immediately upon his arrival, falling for the quirky mage with the lighthearted step and snarky mouth.

Taking a deep breath and steeling his spine, he entered the library. Weaving through the aisles, he found Anders sitting in a cushioned maroon chair in the back, book about magical theory propped up on his knees, one hand holding open the page as he practiced a spell with the other. Fenris couldn’t help but stare as the blue light illuminated freckles dotting the face drawn in concentration, a strand of strawberry-blonde hair dangling next to amber eyes. He stood there, frozen, for an uncertain amount of time before he was startled by laughter followed by the book being snapped shut. Anders stood up, stretching, eyes sparkling as he regarded the now blushing elf in front of him.

“Hello, Fenris. Did you need something or did you just come to stare at me all day?” he teased, tossing him a wink.

 _I came to stare at you all day_ , Fenris desperately wanted to reply. Instead, he bowed, ignoring the annoyed grumble that came with any form of propriety directed at the mage. “The Prince has assigned me to be your personal bodyguard, as there is risk of a rebellion rising up. He is, er, concerned about you.”

 "You mean he's worried someone will use me against him," Anders said darkly, as all playfulness fled his features. He sighed heavily at the look of alarm on Fenris' face. "I'm not as stupid as everyone seems to think I am. I know he doesn't care for me."

"Th-that's not true!" Fenris stuttered out, unsure how to respond to the bitterness in the man's tone. 

Anders' eyes flashed dangerously, a hollow laugh pealing from his throat. "The Prince has not cared for me for many moons now. But don't worry, I won't further _sully_ your lord's reputation." 

Fenris watched as the mage stalked away, not a little disappointed about how the conversation played out. He followed at a distance, making sure to keep Anders in sight but to give him some semblance of privacy. While required to protect him, he didn’t want to make him feel more uncomfortable than needed.

The glare that was leveled at him upon reaching the man's chambers made Fenris' heart wilt.

This was going to be an interesting, if not completely disheartening, assignment.

 

~*~

 

"Oooh, come on, Anders," Merrill purred from next to him. They were sitting in the gardens, her having a short break from the kitchens. She held a daisy in her small hands, smiling at it tenderly as she twirled it around. "He's not _that_ bad."

Anders scowled in the direction of his hidden bodyguard. It had been two weeks since Fenris was assigned to him- _two bloody weeks_ since he'd had any real privacy. He couldn't even take a proper bath without the elf hovering in the same room.

It wouldn't be so bad if the man would actually _talk_. He was the silent and standoffish type, who only spoke when spoken to; and even then, a good portion of what fell out of his mouth revolved around what the _Prince_ wanted, what the _Prince_ told him to do. Deep down, Anders knew it was his job to carry out the commands of his lord, but that didn't make him resent it any less.

"Anders..." The shift in Merrill's tone caused him to glance over at her, and he was startled to find her gazing at him seriously. "He cares about you. He wants to help."

He frowned at her, squinting to try to read what she meant from her face. "He is helping," he started cautiously. "He is protecting me."

She let out a long-suffering sigh. "That's not what I meant and you know it," she chastised. He kept his face blank, refusing to acknowledge what he thought she might be hinting at. She tilted her head toward the sky, a look of distinct annoyance gracing her elvhen features. "Creators, Anders. We _know_ what's been going on with the Prince. And _he wants to help_. We all do.” She grabbed his hands, looking him directly in the eyes even as pain flashed through them. “Please. Let us help you. Just talk to him. He can do more than you realize.” She dropped his hands, picking up the daisy she had discarded and tucking it behind his ear. “I need to get back to the kitchens,” she said, giving him a small, sad smile before bowing and leaving.

He watched her leave, considering her words. Just how could the elf help him? He was a concubine, nothing more than a glorified whore at the Prince’s beck and call. Regardless of any abuse he may have endured, there was nothing a simple guard could do to keep him safe from their own ruler.

Unless she meant something else?

Confused, he stood up, deciding to stroll past the rose bushes. They were in bloom and the smell was intoxicating, reminding him of a time when he had dreamed of romance. The part of him was long dead, buried under the garbage left by first the Templars and now the Prince. How he would have loved to have been on either side of the relationship, receiving flowers or giving them. He had no true preference to gender or roles; he was rather flexible, and had concluded long ago he was mostly in love with the idea of being in love.

Still, his heart longed for him to be courted, to experience a full-blown relationship. He leaned over, reaching out a hand to pick one of the flowers, a white beauty with red swirling on the inside. Cursing loudly when the thorns scraped him, he withdrew his hand sans rose, screwing up his face as he considered a better way to gain the prize he desired.

“Allow me,” a low, gravely voice said from beside him, and Anders watched as Fenris extended one gauntlet-clad hand into the bush, picking the flower with ease. With a small bow, the rose was presented to him, and Anders felt a small blush creep over his features as he took it from elf.

“Thank you,” he said, bringing it up to his nose, savoring the scent. Fenris inclined his head politely, stepping back off to the side to allow him his solitude. Anders watched the man with a vague sort of interest, mulling over what Merrill had said. Could he really trust him?

The rest of the day passed without incident until the dreaded call came. Anders dragged himself to his room, finding the desired outfit already placed upon his bed. The Prince wished him to wear a corset tonight under his robes, a fetish Anders had wondered when would come to light. He had to admit the piece was breathtaking as he fingered the soft, red material, black lace covering the garment in a flowery pattering. Three bows in black ribbon adorned it, two at the bottom by the hips and one in the middle at the top. This one had obviously been meant for a female, and he frowned at the breast cups, uncertain if his body would fill it as was anticipated to. He didn’t wish to think what would occur if the Prince were disappointed.

He slowly stripped and put on the matching lacy black smalls, very aware of the elf’s presence in the room. From what he could tell, the man had the decency to avert his eyes, but that was about to end. The corset needed to be laced from the back, and he had not the talent to do that himself. He pulled the piece up against his skin, standing in front of his mirror and took a deep breath before calling out, “Uh, Fenris?”

He saw in the reflection the elf’s eyes flicker over to him, and heard the sharp inhale as Fenris registered what he was seeing. Dark red colored Anders’ cheeks and he looked down, not wanting to watch his reaction lest he lose his nerve. “I need help lacing the back; it’s too complicated for me to do on my own.”

“O-of c-course, my lord,” Fenris replied, and Anders was surprised to hear a note of breathiness in the deep voice. He felt deft hands pulling the ribbon on the back of the corset, tightening and lacing with an expertise that let him know the elf had done this before. “Just let me know h-how tight you want it.”

Anders gave him the needed directions, and soon it was complete. He looked at himself in the mirror, surprised to see the corset compliment his features despite the fact it had not been meant for a man. He saw Fenris’ ears twitch, both the color of crimson, and he turned around, curious. “What do you think?” he asked, fluttering his eyelashes suggestively.

Fenris’ breath hitched in his throat at the movement, the crimson spreading down to his face slowly. “You look stunning, my lord,” he replied, voice husky. Anders blinked in surprise; was the elf _turned on_ by him? Regardless, it did not matter, as the outfit was not for him.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, reaching over to pull on the dress robes left for him. Outfit complete, he took a shaky breath, readying himself for the evening to come. “Let’s go,” he said, eliciting a quick nod from Fenris as he held open the door. Anders slipped into the hallway, heading down to the Prince’s chambers, hoping tonight would be one of the rare good nights.

~*~

Fenris paced anxiously outside of the door, feeling like he was walking on nails while waiting for Anders to exit the chambers. He had seen the way the man shook on the walk down the hallway, his face pale and resigned as he passed into the rooms. It was then that he had realized just how correct Isabela had been- the normally vibrant mage would only react in such a way if he were being mistreated.

He clenched his fists, working hard to keep a lid on his anger. It would do neither of them good for him to lose his temper. The plan he had been working on with his friend in Lowtown would be put into action soon enough, once a few final ties were set in place. He had been dithering on whether or not to bring Anders into the fold, uncertain how to broach the subject and if Anders would have any real interest in betraying the Prince.

He received his answer when the door opened, revealing the man in question, looking harried and on the verge of tears. He rushed past Fenris, avoiding meeting his gaze. Fenris hurried to keep up, worry evident through the tensed way he carried himself as he chased after the distraught mage. Following him into their newly shared quarters, he closed the door gently behind them before turning back to look at Anders. It was only then that he noticed the ripped cloth of the robes, and he felt a dangerous heat flash deep within him.

“What did he do to you?” he asked, voice low and vibrating with anger.

Anders looked up from where he had fallen on his bed, tears streaming unchecked down his face. “Nothing worse than he normally does, which is bad enough. Please, just leave me alone,” he croaked, voice hoarse and raw.

Fenris shook his head, approaching Anders slowly, cautiously, like one would a startled animal. “This cannot stand,” he said, gingerly setting a hand on the man’s shoulder. Anders’ eyes widened at the contact, uncertainty apparent on his face. “I need you to get cleaned up and ready to go out. I have someone that you need to meet.” He gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile, watching as warring emotions chased each other across the mage’s face. “No more harm will come to you while I am here, this I promise,” he finished, sincerity permeating his tone. Anders hesitated for a moment before nodding, sitting up slowly. Fenris reached out and wiped away the tears that were still falling, rubbing gentle arcs across Anders’ cheeks, eliciting another wide-eyed look from him. A shaking hand shot up and held Fenris’ palm against his cheek as Anders leaned into the touch lightly, eyes drifting shut. Fenris gaped at the action, hope rearing inside of him once more.

“Give me one moment and I’ll be appropriate,” Anders said softly, pulling away from him slowly.

Fenris cleared his throat, mouth suddenly very dry. “Yes, uh, make sure to dress in commoner clothing; the place we are going is located in Lowtown. Also, it may be wise to wear a cloak or some other garment that will hide your hair and face.” When he received no argument, he turned, heading back to his side of the room to pull out his old armor. He trusted his contacts with his own life, but he was bringing walking blackmail into their presence; even the most honest man would be tempted by that. So he resigned himself to needing protective equipment, but he was hardly about to walk into Lowtown with the royal armor. No, that would serve only to bring unwanted attention upon them, possibly giving away who Anders was- something he needed to avoid.

He was taking him into the middle of a brewing warzone, after all.

Once they were both appropriately garbed, Anders with his staff across his back and Fenris carrying his old 2-handed greatsword he brought with him from Tevinter, they slipped into the darkened hallway. Fenris directed Anders through the little used corridors of the castle, passing through several rooms filled with bustling servants, nary a glance spared in their direction. Relief spread throughout Fenris at the lack of recognition Anders was receiving- this could actually work. Anders had chosen a sweeping grey cloak over a simple brown tunic and black trousers, an outfit very unlike the bright colored robes he usually sported. The cloak had a deep hood that covered the beautiful hair that identified him as the coveted paramour of the Prince while also casting a shadow across his face, disguising his handsome features.

Fenris had taken no such precautions; he was only a guard, after all, and no one had any interest in him. Which was how he preferred it, honestly. He had become too well-known in Tevinter as the fearsome Lyrium Ghost, slave bodyguard to Magister Danarius. Having a mundane job, even if it was high up in the palace guard, was a far cry more desirable to him, especially since it afforded him the ability to disappear into regular society when he chose. Such as now.

They made their way toward Lowtown, Anders' face growing more amazed as the passed through Hightown. As Anders started to ask questions at a rapid pace, it hit Fenris like a brick wall that the mage had never been allowed out of the castle to explore the city he lived in. So he did his best to answer what he could (which, quite frankly, wasn’t much seeing as he was fairly new to Kirkwall himself), pointing out certain buildings of interest as they passed by them.

Soon they were descending the steps into Lowtown, Fenris warning Anders to expect far less extravagancy and a fouler odor. He blinked in surprise when he felt the soft brush of the back of a hand against his, glancing at Anders out of the corner of his eye to see the mage looking straight ahead with a look of feigned innocence upon his face. A shiver passed through him when it happened again, a pinky catching slightly on the edge of his hand, rubbing up and down before withdrawing. He drew his bottom lip in between his teeth, willing himself to have patience instead of pulling the mage into the nearest alley and shoving him up against a wall to kiss him senseless.

“Is that… Is that a man hanging from his feet?” Anders gasped next to him as they halted in front of the door to the Hanged Man. Fenris inclined his head in affirmation, pushing forward through the rickety wooden door. The smell of stale ale, piss and blood greeted him as he entered the bar, bustling with drunks as the hour was growing late. He gave a curt nod to Corff, the bartender, as he latched a hand onto Anders’ elbow and pulled him up a set of stairs to a small suite of rooms. A group of people were gathered around a table, at the head of which sat a dwarf with blonde hair, his red silk shirt unbuttoned enough to allow a healthy glimpse of thick, curly chest hair. Next to him stood a tall man with black hair and a neatly trimmed beard, bent over a map, occupied with placing markers in strategic positions. He lifted a hand briefly in greeting before continuing his discussion with a redheaded woman next to him in the city guard’s uniform. Across from them sat Carver from the palace guard, Merrill plopped on his lap, waving merrily at Anders, who was looking around the room with his mouth hanging open. Isabela was draped over the shoulders of a man with auburn hair and piercing blue eyes, his deep bronze skin paling in comparison to her dark visage. At the other end of the table sat a curly-haired blonde man with eyes the color of honey, looking distinctly uncomfortable in plain clothes. To his right was a woman with fiery hair that flowed past her shoulders, green eyes large and full of ferocity. On his left was a woman with short, dark brown hair who bared a rather striking similarity in appearance to Carver, though obviously quite a bit smaller.

Anders pulled down his hood, silence taking over the room quickly as everyone realized who he was. “Is that the Prince’s concubine?” the dwarf asked, easing himself to standing with the slightest look of disquiet on his face. “Is it wise to bring him here, Fenris?”

Fenris pulled Anders over to an empty seat next to Carver and Merrill, motioning for him to take a seat. Looking slightly alarmed to be seated next to the auburn man (no doubt he recognized the Prince of Starkhaven), he lowered himself into it tentatively, folding his hands into his lap and staring around the table, wide-eyed. Fenris handed him a mug of ale before turning back to the dwarf. “Yes, Varric, I think that he would be helpful to our cause. He has no feelings of loyalty to the Prince, or did I misjudge that?” He switched his gaze back to Anders, who quickly shook his head in response. “I thought not. It would be beneficial to have someone on the inside of the court who can go anywhere in castle without suspicion, would it not?”

The dark-haired man stood up, crossing his arms over his chest as he gave Anders an assessing look. “Yes, that would be helpful, I think,” he murmured before leaning across the table and extending his hand. “However, there should be some introductions if you’re to join our merry band of misfits. I am Garrett Amell-Hawke, rightful heir to the throne of Kirkwall.” Fenris hadn’t thought it was possible, but Anders’ eyes widened further as he took the proffered hand.

“P-pleased to meet you, your highness,” he stuttered out, shock written across his face. Garrett chuckled as he pulled back, waving his hand dismissively.

“Please, don’t call me that here. I’m just Garrett, or Hawke, if you prefer. I see you know my brother, Carver-“ Anders swung surprised eyes to his friend, the slightest hint of betrayal in them. Carver smiled sheepishly, mumbling an apology at the deception- it had been necessary, after all, to embed himself in the palace guard. They did not know they would meet and subsequently recruit Fenris. “And that lovely woman in the corner is my sister, Bethany,” Garrett finished, gesturing to the woman with the short dark brown hair. She waved, a bright smile gracing her face, and he waved back uneasily. “I’m going to assume you know Prince Sebastian of Starkhaven-“ Anders gave as much of a bow as he could while seated to the man next to him, earning him a friendly clap on the shoulder. “As well as the Knight-Commander of Kirkwall’s Templars and the Arcane Advisor in the royal court.” The blonde man at the end of the table and the woman next to him greeted him, the latter much more warmly than the former. “Varric Tethras is an esteemed member of the Merchant's Guild and a mastermind when it comes to planning-" The dwarf smiled widely at the description, apparently quite pleased. "Lastly, this is Aveline, the Captain of the Guard. We are the heads of the revolution to put the rightful Prince back on the throne.”

Anders goggled between them all, obviously amazed at how many important people were sitting in front of him. Fenris had to stifle his laugh at how ridiculous the man looked, remembering a time when he could easily become star-struck as well.

“But didn’t Prince Dumar help you regain your throne in Starkhaven? Why would you be aligning against him? Your majesty,” Anders tacked on at the end, addressing Sebastian.

Sebastian sighed, a look of weariness crossing his face as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Aye, that he did. His relations with surrounding countries have become strained as of late however, no doubt due to that harpy he calls his Princess. I am afraid he leaves me with little choice but to replace him with someone more capable, lest the Free Marches face an unneeded civil war.”

Anders nodded slowly; he seemed to be accepting of this, much to Fenris’ relief. “So we have the support of one throne; do we have any other royal backing?” he followed up with, this time directing the question at Garrett.

“Yes, we do. Alistair, King of Fereldan, is willing to send an army to help us if we need,” Garrett replied, moving a marker on the map in front of him. “Which we may not, with so many of us inside the palace and in the upper echelons of Kirkwall society ready to strike at a moment’s notice.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, how did you gain the support of the King?” Anders pushed, curiosity written across his face.

“That would be my doing, I’m afraid,” piped up a soft voice, and they all turned toward Bethany. She smiled shyly, addressing Anders. “We are betrothed, and it would look a lot better if my brother were Prince again. Then there could be an alliance between the city-state of Kirkwall and Fereldan.”

Anders nodded thoughtfully, sitting back to digest all he had just heard. There was a tense silence as they all waited to hear what the man would say, knowing they had bared enough of their plans that if he reported back to the Prince, their rebellion would be quelled before it had a chance to truly begin.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he leaned forward, fire in his eyes. “Andraste’s knickerweasels,” he started, thinly-veiled excitement in his voice. “This sounds _fantastic._ What do you need me to do?”

A round of applause burst throughout the room at his answer, and Fenris smiled, pleased that he had decided to bring him along. Soon the room filled with voices planning, Anders grinning ear to ear and contributing to the conversation as he was able.

~*~

Soon the day of the coup arrived, and everything went off without a hitch. The Prince did not stand much of a chance in all actuality, with the city guard, the Templars and a large amount of his personal guard and royal court aligned against him. Seneschal Bran had stepped aside once he realized what was underway, though whether that was due to him agreeing with their cause or simply wishing to live, it was unclear. Meredith was the first to be taken down, the guards rounding her up and confining her to her rooms. Any loyalist guards were tied up and locked in cells, the servants rounded up and hidden in the servants’ quarters by Merrill and Isabela.

Which left the Prince, who was now kneeling in front of Garrett, a defiant look upon his pale face. He had been unsurprised when the group had entered his room, save for Anders; a look of contriteness and despair had flashed fleetingly across his face before it was tucked back behind a cold mask, but it was enough to twist a string in Anders’ heart. Then Fenris had reached out and taken his hand, squeezing it, and Anders turned to look into green eyes filled with adoration.

They had not had a chance to pursue the obvious feelings between them, too focused on uprooting the Prince from the throne. It was a dangerous enough task on its own, and adding in a dalliance on the side could have ruined months of planning if Seamus had discovered it. Anders was his, after all, and he was known to be a jealous lover. Garrett had promised to give Anders a position in the castle, possibly on the court itself, and was fully supportive of the two men continuing to room together. The promise of what was to come had to be enough, for now.

“The people will never accept you as their ruler, Amell,” Seamus spat out, venom dripping from his voice. “When my father killed your grandfather, they all rallied behind him. Do you think that will have changed now?”

Garrett’s sword cut closer to the man’s throat. “I think you overestimate the happiness of your citizens, _Dumar_. It was disgustingly easy for me to gather support among both the nobles and the commoners; your sudden change in temperament was your downfall. You squeezed them too tightly, treated them too poorly. Most were on the verge of leaving the city when I came. I will restore what you have so carelessly destroyed.”

Seamus let out a hollow laugh. “Then kill me, Amell, and get it over with.”

A bitter smile graced Garrett’s handsome face. “I intend to do just that,” he said softly, and he swung his sword, the head of the former Prince falling to the floor with a rather disgusting _plop!_ “It is over,” Garrett whispered, sheathing his sword carefully. “Please retrieve the seneschal and inform him a coronation is in order.”

Fenris gave a short bow and hurried out the door to do as he was bidden, leaving Anders to stare at the lifeless body on the floor before him. Blood was pooling around where the head had been severed from the neck, and he felt bile rising to his throat at the sight. Despite all he had endured the last few years, he felt a twinge of sadness that his former lover was dead. A heavy hand landed on his shoulder, Anders turning around to see Garrett looking at him, regret shining on his face. “I am sincerely sorry for everything you had to go through, and that you had to see this,” he said quietly, searching Anders’ face. “You did not have to come along, you know.”

“I had to do this,” Anders responded, shrugging slightly. He eyes wandered back to the mess on the floor, and he sagged, shoulders bowing under the weight of the guilt he felt. “I just…wasn’t expecting it to hurt as much as it does.”

Garrett nodded thoughtfully. “Yes. It will hurt, for a time. Please know that I am very thankful for your help, and here if you should ever need me.” He retracted his hand as Fenris and the seneschal returned, inclining his head respectfully at Anders before striding confidently over to the seneschal to engage him in discussion.

Fenris hurried over to Anders, taking his hands in his and searching his face. “Are you okay?” he asked, voice concerned.

Anders shook his head, tears pooling in his eyes. “No,” he answered truthfully, watching as Fenris’ face fell noticeably. “But I will be, in time. Thank you, for everything,” he whispered, smiling sincerely at the elf in front of him.

Fenris returned the smile, reaching up one olive hand to cup pale skin. “I would do anything for you,” he replied, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to Anders’ lips.


	2. Epilogue

Anders stood in front of his mirror, fiddling with his robes. They were a pale ivory color with a corseted top, soft lace flowing across the top with beading in the shape of roses at the waist. The bottom flared out slightly in imitation of a skirt, the lace continuing down to overlap the beautiful garment. He held his breath as the skilled fingers of Isabela made quick work of the lacing in the back, tightening and adjusting the corset so that it laid against him perfectly. A small floral crown made of daisies (Merrill’s handiwork, tears present in her large eyes as she handed it to him to wear) rested atop his strawberry-blonde hair, left loose to flow gently across his shoulders. It was long enough brush the top of his collarbone, grown out at the behest of his love.

“I think you’re ready to go, sweet thing,” Isabela purred into his ear, voice deep and throaty. “Unless you’d like to do a little warming up _before_ you hit the floor,” she continued, waggling her eyebrows in a blatant invitation.

He laughed jovially, pulling her into a tight hug. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll have to pass this time, Bela,” he answered, smiling wide enough he thought his face might split. “I’m afraid I have to save myself for someone else tonight.”

“Mmm, your loss, then.” She winked at him, sauntering across the room to step out of the door. “See you in a few minutes, handsome,” she said, blowing him a kiss as she slipped out.

He chuckled as she departed, then turned back to the mirror to check his reflection one last time. His hands smoothed down the front of his robes, and he took a deep breath to calm his nerves. _There is no reason to be anxious, Anders,_ he chided himself. _This is just like any other day… except that I’m marrying my best friend._ He let out a tiny squeal, his face flushing with happiness as he thought about what that meant. He did a small jig with excitement before stopping, breathing in and out once, twice, three times to calm himself down.

A knock on his door heralded the arrival of Prince Amell, who peeked his head in the door. “We’re ready for you, Anders,” he said, voice warm and smile radiant. He held out his arm, and Anders strolled over to rest his hand in the crook of his elbow. After much thought, it had been decided that Garrett would be the one to give him away at the wedding, since it was primarily due to his timely return that let it even being possible.

After the coronation, Anders had been appointed a court advisor, working closely with the arcane advisor but with a few difference in duties, mostly relating to the circle. This did mean he had to be around Knight-Commander Cullen more than he preferred (he still remembered him from his days at Kinloch Hold), but it was unavoidable and a far better choice than being a concubine.

Fenris had courted him then, each move deliberate and sweet, giving Anders everything he could have ever hoped for. Devotion, loyalty, romance. _Love_. Anders had never thought he would live to see a day when someone would truly love him, and he was constantly amazed that he had found Fenris.

Perhaps the most frustrating part of their relationship had been that Fenris had made him wait for nearly a year before they had sex. Some nonsense about giving him plenty of time to recover from his abuse and to also make sure they were in love before they let physical attraction take control (he griped about it, but secretly Anders loved it). After a year and a half of a truly amazing courtship (and six months of mind-blowing sex), Fenris had gotten down on one knee and proposed to him in the garden, leaving Anders in tears and crying out "yes!" repeatedly. Now here it was, six months later, and they were about to get married.

As the two men entered the palace Chantry, Anders felt his breath hitch in his throat at the sight of Fenris waiting at the altar for him. He was fidgeting in a smart black suit, the fabric clinging to his lithe body tightly, making him look more handsome than usual. Green eyes looked up to meet amber, and Anders watched as awe blossomed across Fenris’ face when he saw him. A blush spread though pale feature and he smiled shyly, a gesture returned exuberantly by his future husband.

He stepped up to his place beside the elf, reaching out to take his hand. Before the Revered Mother could begin the service, Fenris leaned over to whisper in his ear, hot breath tickling his neck. “You look beautiful in those robes, love, and I intend to ravish you later while you’re still wearing them.” Anders felt his blush increase as Fenris pulled away, a mischievous smile on his face.

The ceremony went by in a flash, Anders barely cognizant enough to stammer out his “I do,” mind still dwelling on the words Fenris had whispered in his ear and keeping the fire raging in body under control.

“I now pronounce you two married before the eyes of the Maker and his bride, Andraste. You may kiss your husband,” the mother said, smiling kindly at them. Anders turned to Fenris and leaned forward, not expecting the harsh clash of lips and teeth he was treated to, gasping in surprise when Fenris bit at his lower lip roughly. When they broke apart, both were panting, Fenris’ eyes dark with lust. Anders reached out and entwined their hands, smiling at his husband lasciviously as they turned to face the crowd before them. As they raised their entwined hands, a cheer broke out from those gathered. They walked down the aisle, Anders laughing as rice rained down upon them.

“I love you,” he said, looking at Fenris adoringly.

“And I love you,” Fenris answered, planting a kiss on his cheek. “Now, let’s get the rest of the night over with so the real fun can begin.” Anders shivered at the huskiness in his voice, and sped up, causing the elf to laugh.

Finally, he had the romance he had dreamed of.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Did you like it? Did you love it? Did you... *gasp* hate it? Let me know! I'm always open for reviews, comments and helpful criticism.  
> I'm here to grow. :)
> 
> You can also find me on Tumblr as StarlingHawke


End file.
